


Cookies

by yespolkadot_kitty



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Baking, F/M, Slightly Smutty, fluffy fluff, loki likes cookies, unintended angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-14 07:57:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21012404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yespolkadot_kitty/pseuds/yespolkadot_kitty
Summary: Just a bit of baking on a quiet night in Stark Tower.





	1. Chapter 1

You sank your hands into the cookie mix. This late, no one was up in Stark Tower. You looked out of the big picture windows as you worked. The lights of the city twinkled and shone. Other people were up - after all, New York never truly slept.

The lights, billboards, occasional street noise that filtered up, made you feel less alone. Of course, you had plenty of company here in Superhero Central. The Avengers treated you like one of them, and as their group PA, you’d become indispensable, keeping themselves (Thor especially) from double or triple booking events or signings. Thor insisted that he could just fly across the city from one event to another. You reminded him frequently that  _ other _ things occupied the sky as well and it wouldn’t look good if he was sucked into the engine fan of a 747 approaching JFK. You suspected the plane would come off worse in that meeting, but Thor had ever since been worried about the effect on his hair, so he had grudgingly listened to your advice.

You started to shape the cookie mix into little tablespoon-sized balls when the sound of bare feet on the wooden floor caught your attention.

“Sleep eluding you again?” Loki’s soft, almost predatory tone carried to you from across the room.

It had become a strange ritual for you both. Both naturally night owls, you often shared the large kitchen-diner space in the wee hours. Loki habitually didn’t bother you, instead leafing through old tomes or learning about Midgard through an iPad you’d given him in a moment of sympathy.

In the main he had behaved himself since moving to the Tower. Tony and some of the others had reserved judgement, but most everyone knew that he’d been under some sort of freaky alien spell when he’d assaulted New York, and it was certainly true that he’d been an asset to the Avengers over the last few months, assisting with strategy on missions. He came alive during those meetings, his brain working, his eyes lit up. You found it… compelling. You found  _ him _ compelling.

“I never sleep that well,” you replied, placing another cookie on the baking sheet.

“Which flavour this evening, then?” he asked silkily, coming to stand a scant few feet from you.

Although he wore a black hoodie and grey sweatpants, his scent of polished leather and bergamot drifted to you, mingling with the aroma of sugar and chocolate from the bowl on the worksurface.

“Chocolate cardamom. I call ‘em cowboy cookies.”

Loki peered into the bowl. You noticed how long his lashes were against his high cheekbones. He was gorgeous and it was unfair. Infact, you  _ regularly  _ felt like a troll who’d been dragged through a hedge backwards amid all these gorgeous super-people.

“And would cowboys eat these… creations?” he asked curiously.

You frowned. “Never really thought about it. But I’m sure they’d eat anything delicious. Here.” Without thinking about it, and probably because you were  _ super _ tired and it was two am, and you’d become so  _ used  _ to Loki being in your space, you scooped up a finger of mix and offered it to him.

He licked it off your digit, his tongue swirling to get all the mix off, and the feel of his mouth around your finger made your pulse jump. And made your  _ stupid brain _ conjure images of what else he could do with that tongue.

“Divine,” he pronounced, stepping back casually as if he hadn’t just rocked your world. 

He would taste of the mix now, if you kissed him. He’d taste of sugar and chocolate and cardamom and it would be so heady. You shook yourself mentally.

“I guess I better get baking,” you said to the room, deliberately not looking at him. Your face had turned all heated, your pulse jittery, your breasts suddenly heavy with awakened desire.

“And how long will they take to cook?” he asked, and you looked over and met his forest green gaze.

“I guess, twenty minutes, plus cooling time.”

His green, green eyes held your as his mouth ticked up into a smile with a lick of sin. “And what shall we do with this time, I wonder, to occupy ourselves?”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things hot up a little bit.

“Oh, you know. Whatever.”

Loki’s dark eyes stayed on yours a second longer. “That word. You use it a lot rather than say what you are thinking.”

Your hand holding the cookie sheet bobbled as you opened the oven door and slid the treats inside, the scent of cardamom infusing into the air between you and the trickster God. You closed the oven door and set the timer for fifteen minutes. Tony had installed a smart oven a few months ago that auto shut off once the timer was three minutes overdue. It had saved Stark Tower many a time when Jane decided to cook and then wandered off to do science while she waited for her dinner. You’d seen Thor eating her blackened lasagne more than once, amiably; he didn’t seem to notice or mind that it was burned.

“What word?” You challenged, folding your arms across your chest.

Loki looked undeterred at your body language. “ _ Whatever. _ You say it when there are other words on your tongue that you refuse to let loose.”

Your mouth dried up. “I do  _ not, _ ” you argued. Great. You sounded like a grumpy toddler. “Are all Asgardians so annoyingly perceptive?”

“Aesir,” he corrected gently, sliding his hands into the roomy pockets of the hoodie he wore. “And no. You must know this. You are well acquainted with my brother, after all.”

That made a laugh bubble up in your chest. “Well. Maybe he isn’t the smartest, but he’s very …. Nice.”

Loki took a step towards you, all that coiled, lazy power intoxicating, his gaze riveted on your face. “And is that what you Midgardians  _ like _ in a mate? For them to be…. Nice?”

You backed away, knowing it was weak, but unsure what else to do. Eventually the back of your legs hit the long sofa Loki usually reclined on while reading. The sofa sat against the big picture window, twenty stories up from the ground. There was literally nowhere to go.

“Uh, well, I’m sure most people like a bit of excitement, you know, but nice is important for settling down. You know,” you babbled. 

“I’m not asking about  _ people, _ ” Loki intoned, his voice low, intimate. Private. “I am asking about  _ you _ in particular. Do you seek only a  _ nice _ man to tend to your needs?”

Those  _ needs _ were making themselves known very loudly indeed between your legs. “Um,” you hedged.

“Or do you wish for something a little more….” his voice dropped half an octave, “Stimulating?”

His voice entranced you. You wondered if you could orgasm from the sound of him speaking alone, if he were to get  _ intensely  _ dirty. You swallowed the moisture suddenly pooling in your mouth. 

“I…. don’t know,” you said truthfully, your voice small in your throat.

Loki lifted a hand and stroked one long finger down your cheek, then tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Such things I could do to you, mortal, that you would never wonder again if you simply wanted a “nice” man to be with. You deserve much more. You deserve a God.”

Your breath came out in a squeak. “And are you… er, auditioning for the position?”

His eyebrow arched, a smile tugging at his mouth as he cupped your cheek, his palm warm, steady against your face. “Perhaps I should begin to do so.” He leaned down to you and you let your eyes flutter closed as his lips ghosted over yours, just the butterfly wings of a kiss, exploring, asking without words. When his tongue licked over the seam of your lips, you opened for him, drinking in the taste of him, the tang of coffee and the fragrance of bergamot, overlaid with the polish of leather and something else uniquely Asgardian… uniquely Loki.

You breathed his name as he nipped at your lower lip, and of their own accord, your arms looped around his neck. Your slid your fingers into his pile of raven’s wing hair, silky and soft against your skin.

“I want to feel you come apart under me,” he whispered against your lips. “Pleasure you until you are begging for mercy. Explore every inch of you until the bliss is too much, until you scream my name loudly enough to wake all of Stark Tower.”

He drew back and searched your gaze. Your eyes felt heavy; your breasts tingled where they were crushed against his chest. The place between your legs throbbed insistently.

“Yes, please,” you agreed, looking him dead in the eye, wanting him to know you were a willing participant.

The oven timer started to ping.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things get a bit angstier than I intended!!!

“Cookies,” you managed to gasp out.

Loki arched a dark brow. “Stark has set the timer, I believe?”

You wriggled. “But three minutes over can be death for cookies. These are delicate! They could be singed, and then I’d need to make-”

“Very well, mortal.” With a flick of his wrist, the oven door opened. The tray of cookies floated out and on to the cooling rack and the oven shut off. “Satisfied?”

You opened your mouth and shut it again. “Er… yes. Thanks. That was… pretty cool.”

A smile ticked up the left corner of his mouth. “A party trick.”

There was something melancholy about his words. “Is that all you think you are? Party tricks and smoke and mirrors?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “It hardly matters.”

“It does matter,” you insisted. “Everyone knows you weren’t yourself when-”

“But then who _am I_? Seven hells,” he groaned, raking his hands through his tumble of raven hair. “Sometimes I just think I sleepwalk through the days and wait for the night time so I can be alone here. With you,” he added, his voice dropping half an octave.

The deep baritone stirred something in your stomach. You grabbed his hand and pulled him to sit down on the sofa with you. “Why?”

“Because. You let me be,” he said at length. “No endless questions. You just bake, and I just read. Sometimes you speak and sometimes you don’t. It is almost as if you…. Accept me.”

Your heart clenched, hard. “We all deserve acceptance.” You hopped up and snagged a cookie from the cooling sheet, tossing it from palm to palm as it steamed. Blowing on it, you offered it to him. “Here.”

Loki eyed it suspiciously.

“It won’t kill you,” you laughed. “Well, I guess with your Aesir blood you never know-”

“I am a Frost Giant, though,” he said solemnly.

You rolled your eyes and stuffed the cookie into his mouth. “If you’re determined to hate yourself, then I guess every time you say something negative, I’m gonna shove a cookie in your face. You’d probably never even get fat. Bastard.”

He did chuckle around the mouthful of cookie. 

You leaned back on the sofa. “Is that why you said those things to me? Because you wanted a distraction from feeling… like this?”

He sat up, his brow furrowed, swallowing the remainder of the cookie. “No. I meant it. I have wanted to be close to you ever since we began these…. Hangouts,” he finished, and you got the feeling the word felt strange in his mouth. His hand lifted to tuck a stray curl behind your ear and his dark green eyes searched yours. “I may hate myself, kitten, but I have no idea what I’d do if you came to hate me.”

Your heart constricted. “I don’t hate you.” Unable to resist any further, you pulled him in for a kiss. His lips parted under yours, and he tasted of caramel and chocolate and just that hint of bergamot, and you could have kissed him forever.

Impatient to touch him, to show him he was loved, and important, you unzipped his hoodie and pushed the fabric off his shoulders. His plain, slate grey t-shirt was soft from his body heat and you slid your hands up under the hem, spreading your palms over his lean, muscled physique. He groaned into your mouth as you kissed, and you marveled at how easily he’d submitted to you despite his teasingly erotic words earlier. Was this what he wanted, what he needed? Someone to love him and take the lead? Prove that he didn’t always need to be the one to make the move?

“Loki,” you whispered against his lips as his hands slid up into your hair, cradling your head, petting you. It was immensely soothing and arousing all at once.

“I am yours,” he said simply, and it undid you, in all the ways possible and some more besides.

You gently pushed him down to lie on the long sofa, straddling his lean hips. He obediently raised his arms so you could pull the soft cotton t-shirt over his head. Suddenly in a rush**,** desire flooding you, you disrobed him as quickly as you could, his clothes fluttering to the floor, unnoticed. He helped you with your own clothes, and within moments you lay naked together, your only company the sliver of moon that shone in the New York sky, its waxy brightness a match for the neon billboards on the skyscrapers of the city that never slept. 

You spread your hands over his chest. His heart beat under your palm. He lay still while you explored him, your greedy fingers enjoying learning every plane and curve and crook of his body. The curve of his hips, the ticklish place below his ribs, the weight of his desire for you, heavy against your stomach.

“I’m ready,” you whispered against his throat. “Make me scream. Pleasure me until I beg for mercy.”

His eyes went dark with lust, and you had the fleeting thought that you’d woken the dragon in his den. But you felt excitement, not fear, coiling in the pit of your stomach.

As the stars fought the lights of New York, Loki took his sweet time acquainting himself with every way to make you sigh and moan his name. His talented fingers mapped every sensitive spot on your body and had you bowing under and over him. He kept you on that sweet cliff edge of bliss for what felt like hours.

When you finally tumbled over the edge together, him deep inside you, his arms around you as he gasped into your hair, something settled inside you. It felt so right. And you knew from the way Loki murmured sweet nonsense to you as he held you through the aftershocks, he felt it, too. Maybe you’d change him for the better. Heal him.

“I should bake more often**,**” you said into the quiet room, the only sound yours and Loki’s measured breathing.

You felt him smile against your hair. He gently eased your leg up to it rested across his thighs and then conjured a blanket to cover you both. “Whilst I applaud your pursuits, your cookies are mine alone.”


End file.
